


A Tale of Two Houses

by HooksLovelySwan (ChainOfPaperClips)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainOfPaperClips/pseuds/HooksLovelySwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Harry Potter/Captain Swan AU that chronicles the relationship and adventures of Emma Swan, Gryffindor, and Killian Jones, Hufflepuff, throughout their years at Hogwarts. Rated T for some language and mild sexual references throughout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year: King's Cross & The Hogwarts Express

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I started writing this fic is a gift for my CS Secret Survivors shipmate, Joanie, Fuckstruckswan. She requested a HP/CS AU as her gift, and I was very happy to oblige! 
> 
> I am aiming for a Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley vibe to Killian and Emma's early relationship, so anyone familiar with the Anne of Green Gables series by L.M. Montgomery should know where this is going to some extent, and that their relationship will develop slowly, in stages.
> 
> I have tried to retain many of the British terms inherent to the books, as that is not only part of their charm, but also because I feel like that's simply being accurate to the world portrayed in Rowling's books. Being American, however, there might be terms that slip by me, so if any Brits reading this fic see an American term where a British one should be, please let me know, and I will happily fix it.
> 
> Finally, I owe a great big thank you to Scheherezade06, the author of her own HP/CS AU, who kindly gave me the go-ahead to make Killian a Hufflepuff in my own fic, when I inquired about it, since that's just ultimately who I see him as, at his core. Happy reading!

Emma took a deep breath and entered King's Cross Station, peering around the noisy, smoke-filled environment with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Her foster family had dumped her off on a street corner several blocks away, so impatient to see to their own errands that they couldn't be bothered to see her off properly. Emma hadn't been surprised in the slightest. Thankful that she had at least managed to retrieve her own meager belongings before they sped off, she marched over to an empty trolley and lifted the heavy trunk onto it with more than a little relief.

Wiping away the sweat that slicked her forehead, Emma tucked her handkerchief back into her jeans pocket and hoped that she hadn't sunburned too badly during her trek to the station. She checked her watch and saw that she had exactly ten minutes until the Hogwarts Express left King's Cross station. "What do you think, Leia?" she asked the tawny owl, hefting the cage until it was level with her face. "Better find the train platform, huh?" The little owl blinked at her without a sound, and Emma thought, upon peering at her more closely, that she looked rather wilted. "Poor thing. I feel the same way." Rummaging in her purse for a moment, Emma removed a small bottle of water no bigger than her hand and poured some of the liquid into Leia's dish.

Emma pulled out her train ticket and studied her surroundings while the little owl refreshed herself. Puzzled that she couldn't seem to find her own platform, she wondered if the ticket had been misprinted. Nine and three-quarters  _was_  an odd number for a train ticket, after all. Perhaps she would stop someone to ask them. Though what she would do if her ticket was misprinted, she didn't know. Time was ticking away as it was, and Emma didn't see how she could possibly get it replaced in time to board the train.

"Need some help?" a male voice inquired from just behind her left shoulder.

Emma blinked and looked up into the smiling face of a boy about her own age. His hair was blond, his eyes a deep blue, and another boy exactly like him, but looking considerably less enthusiastic, was standing just on her other side. "Um, well..." she hesitated. It was one thing to approach a guard or something herself, but to be approached herself by two strangers was another thing entirely.

"I'm David Nolan," the first boy introduced himself. "And this is my brother, James," he gestured at his bored-looking twin. "We're going to Hogwarts, too."

"H-how did you know?"

"Well, the owl was a big clue," David teased. "And you've been looking from platform nine to platform ten with a confused expression on your face far too many times for it to be coincidental. Mum thought we should offer to help."

"Oh."

"Come on," James said impatiently, "or we'll never make the train." He jerked his head toward the space between the two platforms.

"I'm Emma, by the way," she finally offered, as she pushed her trolley after James as David fell into step beside her, carrying Leia's cage for her. "Emma Swan. This is...this is my first year."

"Nice to meet you, Emma. This is our first year, too."

"So, um, what's the deal with the platform?" she asked, carefully steering her trolley through the crowd.

He glanced over at her, then pointed toward the blank wall space between platforms nine and ten. "Watch," he said with a mysterious smile.

Emma slowed to a stop as they neared their destination, watching intently as a tall, slim girl with wavy red hair walked up to the wall, pulling her wheeled trunk along behind, and promptly disappeared through it. Emma gaped. Even after her letter and her visit to Diagon Alley, she still found it difficult to believe that magic was real. For although it was a relief to be leaving the tense, unpleasant atmosphere of her latest foster family, she had been unable to wholly embrace her identity as a witch. If her years in foster care had taught her anything, it was that there were no fairy godmothers in life. No one to rescue you when you really needed it.

And yet, her Hogwarts letter had seemed to be just that: the answer to her prayers-were she a praying person. It was all too perfect, too good to be true. Even up to her arrival at the train station, Emma hadn't been entirely certain that this all wasn't some horribly cruel joke cooked up by her foster family, that would leave her hurting and disappointed again, if she let herself get invested in it. So, she hadn't.

Until now.

"Illusion?" she inquired.

David nodded. "For the sake of the Muggles. Non-magical folk," he explained when she tilted her head at him. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my Mum." He herded her toward a pleasant-looking woman with curling brown hair. "Mum, this is Emma. It's her first year, too."

"Hello, Emma," she smiled. "Are you excited about attending Hogwarts?"

Truth to be told, Emma didn't know what she was feeling, now that she knew this wasn't some elaborate hoax. She had never been particularly adept at labeling her emotions. All too many times it was just simpler not to feel anything at all. But as hard as she had tried throughout the years in foster care, Emma had never been able to wholly shut off her emotions in favor of stoicism. Bury them, certainly. But not douse them completely.

"A little," she finally answered.

David looked amused at her answer, and James rather startled, but their mother simply smiled again. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" she nodded. "I remember my first year at Hogwarts. I was a nervous wreck. You three seem to have much better composure." She shook at her head. "Look at me, reminiscing when we have a train to catch! Come along, now. I'll see you off. Ladies, first, Emma." She gestured at the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Emma reminded herself that it was only an illusion, that she wouldn't really crash into the wall and injure herself, and wheeled her trolley forward, picking up speed. She closed her eyes at the last moment, despite her internal monologue, and opened them again a moment later when she heard the warning whistle of a train. David and James appeared next to her momentarily, followed by Mrs. Nolan.

"That's it, then, better hurry," Mrs. Nolan said, helping them with their luggage as they approached the Hogwarts Express. "You wouldn't want to miss the train."

"They wouldn't really take off without us," James dismissed with a shake of his head. "Not when we're standing right here."

"Even so, you'd best not tarry much longer," she insisted. "Now. I expect both of you to behave yourselves." Her eyes slid over to James. "Especially you, young man. No more hexing people's pastries to be filled with mayonnaise, or jinxing toilets to shriek at people any time they sit down on them-"

"That wasn't me, that was David!" She eyed him skeptically.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw a smile playing at the corners of David's mouth. He winked at her.

"Nevertheless, I expect both of you to be on your best behavior-"

"But that's not any fun," James grumbled. "And no one can manage to be good  _all_  the time-"

Mrs. Nolan sighed. "Try," she insisted with an exasperated expression. She hugged each of her boys in turn, leaving Emma to stand by awkwardly, fiddling with her trunk. "Now, off with you!" she said, stepping back. "It was nice to meet you, Emma!" She waved.

Emma returned the wave. "You, too," she offered, stepping aboard the train. David followed after, hefting her luggage up the steps while Emma carried Leia. The train pulled out of the station not long after, and Emma spent a few moments readjusting to the movement of the train as she searched for a place to sit. Most of the compartments seemed to be filled with students already, many of them quite a bit older, and Emma shied away from those, hoping to find an empty compartment of her own-more out of habit than out of any real hope of finding one.

By the time she reached the last compartment on the train, James had abandoned them in favor of sitting with some friends from their local village, and Emma was already well resigned to putting up with the occupants, regardless of their age. She was tired, her muscles protesting after the strain of her trek to King's Cross that morning, combined with a restless night with little sleep. She wanted to sit and recuperate, even if it meant sitting on the floor somewhere. "Last stop," she muttered. "No matter what."

"Agreed," David nodded.

Emma reached for the door to the compartment, but just as her fingers closed around the handle, the door jerked open, and a warm body crashed into hers, knocking her off balance. David caught her, and she shot him a wordless look of thanks as she straightened to her full height again and looked to see if the other person had been hurt. A boy with black hair and a stupefied expression lay on the floor, gazing up at her with eyes so blue Emma thought they must be a sin. "Are you okay?" she asked him, holding out her hand to help him up.

He glanced at her hand, then back at her, and offered his own in wordless acceptance. She pulled him up with a slight grunt. He was several inches shorter than her, like most the boys her age, but he didn't let his gaze get stuck on her chest like most of them did. Instead, he lifted his stunned gaze to her face and blurted, "My, you are an Amazon, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?!" Emma and David demanded in unison.

A cough issued from inside the compartment, and a much older boy with brown, curling hair and facial hair appeared behind the raven-haired one. "Making friends already, I see," he said, looking down at the rude boy with an expression that was both reproachful and amused. "Killian, apologize to the lady."

Those impossibly blue eyes lifted to hers. But before he could even open his mouth, Emma shook her head. "Forget it. Come on, David. We'll go back and find James."

Glaring at the other boy, David nodded once and set off with a grim expression. Emma followed after with a lift of her chin, feeling those blue eyes burn a hole in her back the whole way.


	2. First Year: The Sorting

Killian's first trip on the Hogwarts Express felt interminable. He replayed the incident with the pretty blonde girl over in his mind more times than he could count, cringing at his own awkward moment of idiocy. What in seven hells had possessed him to comment about her  _height_? One moment he had been taking in the wealth of shining golden hair that spilled over her shoulders, and the vibrant green eyes that reminded him of his home in Ireland, and the next, he was blurting out some asinine comment about her long legs. Her very attractive long legs.

But instead of the smooth introduction that he might have envisioned to such a siren, his mouth had disconnected from his brain while he had been attempting to process the sight of her, and he had inadvertently insulted her. Liam had not stopped chuckling about it the entire train ride over.

_"Killy's first crush," he had chortled, after Killian returned to the compartment and slid the door shut with unnecessary force._

_"Shows how much you know," he grunted. "I had a crush on Milah for years."_

_"Milah Gold? The little dark-haired girl from the village? Her father hates you!"_

_"And her brother," he reminded Liam, flopping back onto the seat opposite of him. "The entire family, really. Bunch of pureblood bigots, them. Except for Milah, of course. She never cared that our father was Muggle."_

_"She's the only decent one in the entire lot of them," Liam nodded emphatically. "Though I guess she's not so little anymore." He watched Killian for a moment. "This is her first year, too..."_

_"What of it?"_

_"You were going to find her, weren't you? Milah, I mean. When you yanked the door open and crashed into the blonde girl?"_

_"Maybe," he muttered._

_"I see." Liam paged through the book balanced across his lap, looking thoughtful. He fell silent after that, and Killian thought the entire matter was closed, until his brother spoke up just after Killian returned from the trolley with an armful of chocolate frogs. "There are two things women really love, Killian."_

_He looked up at his brother, startled. "I beg your pardon?"_

_Liam jerked his head at the pile of chocolate frogs that Killian deposited on the seat next to him. "Chocolate," he said, holding up his index finger, "and apologies." He held up a second finger. Picking up one of the candies from the pile, he winked at Killian and unwrapped it with a smug grin. "Anyway, it can't hurt to try."_

Killian exited the Hogwarts Express and stepped onto the platform with his older brother's words ringing in his head. Determined to make amends with the girl he had insulted earlier, his eyes sought the crowd for her wealth of blonde hair, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw her, flanked by two identical blond-haired boys that he presumed were her brothers, based on the protective way that one of them had reacted to his idiotic comment earlier.

 _Triplets?_  he wondered curiously. Or were they in different years?

Following the directives of a tall brunette carrying a bright lantern and wearing a long red cloak, Killian joined the other first years from his train carriage and waited for the rest of the new students to make their way over. Watching the blonde surreptitiously, Killian noted when she took her place at the edge of the small crowd, followed by her two brothers. Triplets it was, then. He licked his lips nervously and revised his plan. He wasn't likely to get a private word with her, now. Trying to do so apart from one brother would have been difficult enough, but apart from two? Certainly not after the mess he had made of things.

On the other hand, perhaps a bold approach was the way to go. He might earn the respect of her brothers if he apologized outright. Surely they would at least see that he was capable of being a gentleman, despite his earlier missteps.

He started to move toward them, intent on giving it a go, at least, but the brunette held the lantern up, peering over the heads of the first years assembled around her, and pronounced that they were ready to leave. "My name is Professor Whale. I teach Care of Magical Creatures, an elective course available to students, starting in their third year. I also serve as gamekeeper of Hogwarts, and my husband, Dr. Whale, is the head of the Hogwarts healing ward." There were a lot of raised eyebrows and impressed murmurs at this speech, and Killian noted the way that Professor Whale caught the blonde girl's eye and smiled. "Now," Professor Whale said, "if you will all please follow me, we have a lake to cross."

Hanging back slightly, Killian fell into step behind the blonde girl as her brothers moved ahead of her on the path, talking with each other in low tones.

"I know you're back there," she said suddenly.

Killian blinked, startled. "How did you know?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a frown. "It's nearly impossible to sneak up on me," she said with a look that he might have interpreted as closed off, had it not been for the brief flash of pain in her eyes. He frowned, wondering what had put it there. "So don't even bother."

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you," he protested. She shot him a skeptical look as he fell into step beside her. "I wasn't. I've come to apologize. I was a git earlier and-"

"You got that right," she snorted.

"I wasn't trying to insult you, I was just...startled...and I spoke without thinking."

"And how is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She sighed. "I mean, how is it supposed to make me feel any better to hear that you spoke without thinking?"

"Because I don't normally behave in such an ungentlemanly fashion."

"Oh, so this is about pride and ego, is it?"

"What?" he exclaimed. "No!"

"You know what, it doesn't even matter," she said as Professor Whale instructed them to climb into the boats that lined the shore of a very large lake. "I don't care what you think of me."

"And how would you know what I'm thinking?" he challenged. Killian climbed into one of the boats and settled down, glancing back at her. She hesitated on the shore, an uneasy look on her face. "What's the matter?"

Her eyes snapped up to his. "Nothing," she said with a lift of her chin.

"Then why aren't you getting in the boat?" he asked with a lift of his eyebrows.

She glowered at him and stepped into the boat, seating herself across from him. Killian felt a flare of surprise. He had expected her to stomp away and join her brothers, given the argument they seemed to be having, but it seemed that proving him wrong-though he wasn't certain, exactly, what she was proving him wrong about-was far more important to her than joining her siblings for the lake crossing.

"Lass, I truly am sorry," he muttered as another student joined them the boat. "I apologize for my rudeness. I don't know what came over me-" Not precisely the truth, as he'd been literally bowled over by this beautiful, long-limbed goddess, "-but I'd like to be friends."

She watched him for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether he was being sincere, and a familiar figure with thick, curling brown hair stepped into the boat and sat down next to him. "Milah!" he exclaimed. "You're...here."

"Of course, silly!" She sat down beside him with a bright smile. "I didn't see you on the train; I think we were in different carriages. So naturally, I looked for you for the lake crossing." She bumped him playfully with her elbow, and Killian offered her a strained smile in return. He glanced toward Emma, whose attention appeared wholly absorbed by the battered and dirty pair of trainers that she wore. They were a puzzling contrast to the new, crisp Hogwarts robes that she wore. But perhaps she hadn't known what to expect with their journey to Hogwarts after the train ride, and she hadn't wanted to damage her good trainers?

Killian listened with half an ear as Milah chattered happily during the lake crossing, offering a vague comment now and then, so as not to hurt her feelings, but his mind was on the girl sitting across from him. It bothered him that he had mucked things up so badly, and what was worse, she didn't seem at all inclined to forgive him, despite Liam's brotherly advice. Resolving to try again, he stepped out of the boat when they reached shore, and carefully maneuvered himself into line behind her as Professor Whale instructed them about what to expect when they went inside Hogwarts for the first time. He wasn't likely to receive another opportunity to speak with her tonight, unless she ended up being sorted into the same house as him, he realized, and Killian wasn't about to leave things to chance. He would have to seize the chance while he had it, and hope that he was able to make amends with her.

"Hello," he said softly.

She peered over her shoulder and sighed. "You again?"

"Ouch," he said. "I realize we got off on the wrong foot, lass, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to apologize."

"Oh?" she said coolly. "Is that why you called me an Amazon just because I'm tall?"

"Lass, I didn't mean-"

"Save your breath. We both know it's true; that's why it slipped out before you thought better of it."

He groaned inwardly. Why was it that she seemed to take every word that came out of his mouth and use it as ammunition against him? "Maybe I  _like_  tall," he countered.

"Emma, who's this?" one of her brothers said, spotting him from the line next to theirs. His twin turned, and then glowered at Killian. Well. At least he knew who was whom, for the moment.

"Killian Jones," he spoke up. "And you're Emma's brothers?"

She snorted, and the twins looked amused. "James and David Nolan," she introduced them respectively. "I've never seen them a day in my life before today. We met at King's Cross." She paused. "I'm Emma Swan," she said reluctantly.

"Nolan?" he echoed. "Your dad works at the Ministry, doesn't he?" he asked the twins.

James nodded. "Called away to deal with a nasty mess this morning."

Killian eyed him with interest, and might have inquired further, when Emma said, "Ministry?"

"The Ministry of Magic," David spoke up. "They run the wizarding community, sort of like the Muggle government does with their Ministries."

"Oh," she said.

"Muggle-born?" Killian asked, eyeing her with curiosity.

"I-I don't know," she mumbled. "I was raised as one. I'm an orphan. I don't know who my parents were."

Killian cursed to himself. Here he was trying to apologize to her for one mistake, and here had made her uncomfortable and messed things up again. He should not have asked something so personal, so forward, in such a short time after meeting her. Particularly when he was struggling to get into her good graces to begin with. "Emma, I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"You don't often, do you?" she replied caustically, without looking over her shoulder.

He sighed. "I deserve that."

She ignored him as they filed into the Great Hall, and Killian sighed inwardly. It seemed that he was fighting a losing battle, and he wondered briefly if he should just wash his hands of her altogether. He had tried to apologize; if she chose not to accept it, that was on her, not him. But Killian wasn't a coward. He didn't simply walk away when things were difficult, like his father. If a man didn't fight for what he wanted, he deserved whatever he got.

And Killian very much wanted to befriend this strangely captivating witch.

He mulled his dilemma over while a different professor stepped forward, her grey hair loosely piled into a bun on her head, spectacles sliding down her nose as she scrutinized the group of first years. With her hands on her hips, she shook her head, and a slight frown crossed her face, as if to say that the potential for this group of first years was in doubt. "I am Professor Lucas," she told them in a strong, clear voice. "I teach Transfiguration. Some people around Hogwarts like to refer to me as 'Granny'." Her narrow gaze swept over the crowd. "Don't." Nervous laughter followed this pronouncement, and Professor Lucas began to explain the particulars of the Sorting Ritual.

There didn't seem to be much to it, Killian reflected with surprise. Liam had been rather vague about the procedure every time Killian had questioned him about it, and eventually he had resigned himself to simply waiting for his own turn. Nervous, he sought out his brother in the Great Hall, and found Liam watching him with an encouraging expression from the Hufflepuff table.

After a song from the Sorting Hat, students were called forward alphabetically, and Killian was rather glad that his surname was Jones, rather than say, something further down the alphabet. It was less time that he would have to wait in suspense. The sooner he knew his fate, the better off that he would feel. It would be at least one weight off of his mind. Perhaps then he could lay out a proper plan to try and win over Emma Swan.

"Jones, Killian!" the Sorting Hat finally called after a time.

He moved toward the stool that the Sorting Hat lay on, peering over toward his brother again. Liam nodded at him once, mouthing "Go on," and Killian took heart from that. For all that his older brother sometimes liked to give him a hard time, they were actually rather close to each other-a bond borne out of the silent but mutual agreement to protect and care for their mother in the absence of their father.

Killian picked up the Sorting Hat and sat down, placing it on top of his head. The hat fell over his eyes, shrouding his vision in darkness.

"Well, aren't you quite the quandary," a soft voice said in his ear. Killian twitched in surprise, then realized it was the Sorting Hat speaking to him. "Intelligence and wit in abundance, I see. Hard-working and extremely loyal, with quite the thirst for order and fair play. But courageous, oh yes. Almost to a fault. And a desire to prove yourself, to show the world what kind of man Killian Jones could be, with the tenacity to achieve your goals no matter what it takes, if pushed properly. So where to place you?"

 _I hope it isn't Slytherin_ , he thought. The thought of being stuck in the same house as Milah's older brother, Robbie Gold, made him writhe. Better Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, he reflected, or Hufflepuff, where his brother was. He and Liam had always been a team, had each other's backs, in the wake of their father's abandonment. If they shared the same House-

"Liam, hmm?" the Sorting Hat said suddenly. "Then it better be...HUFFLEPUFF!"

Killian yanked the hat off of his head and stared down at it with a mixture of irritation and consternation. He had never had a preference for any of the Houses, exactly; other than a mild dislike of Slytherin, with its overwhelming amount of pureblood sympathizers, they had always been more or less on equal footing in his mind, so far as he was concerned. But the bloody hat had placed him in Hufflepuff based on a  _stray thought_.

Placing the hat back on the stool, he made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, grumbling. "Assessment of core qualities, my arse," he said under his breath as he slid onto the bench next to Liam. Luckily, his new housemates were too busy cheering and clapping at having another Jones brother that they didn't notice. Liam clapped him on the back, congratulating him with a proud grin, and Killian couldn't help but smile back. It  _wasn't_  Slytherin, after all. And he could work just as hard at his studies in this house as any other, so what mattered what house that he was in? As fun and interesting as he knew Hogwarts could be, from Liam's stories, he  _was_  here to get an education. Everything else was of secondary importance, in the end.

Killian chatted with some of his new housemates while the Sorting proceeded, trying to get a feel for his new home away from home, while keeping one curious eye on Emma. What house might she be sorted into? Killian thought it was too much to hope for that it might be his own, the way his luck seemed to be running tonight. The Fat Friar swooped between all of the first years as they joined the rest of the House, introducing himself, while a cheerful brunette next to Killian fired questions at Liam about courses and professors that interested Killian despite his preoccupation.

"Mary-Margaret Blanchard," she introduced herself with a warm smile after Killian joined the conversation. Killian shook her hand. "You're brothers?" She looked from him to Liam with a quizzical expression.

"You wouldn't know it to look at us, would you?" Liam grinned.

"Well-there's a slight resemblance in the facial structure, and something about the eyes and nose, even though there's differences," she insisted, "but-"

"Nolan, James!" the name was called out.

Killian watched as one of the brothers stepped forward out of line and sat down on the stool. Placing the hat on top of his head with a rather intense expression, it was only a matter of moments-mere seconds, really-before the Sorting Hat shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Cheers erupted from Slytherin House, and Killian wasn't surprised. A Nolan in their House was nothing to sneeze at, considering whom their father was. He watched expectantly as David took his own seat on the stool to be sorted, a cheerful, almost goofy expression on his face, once the noise died down enough to hear his name called.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat yelled, in nearly as short a time as it had taken to sort his twin brother.

Killian shook his head, looking from one twin to the other as David went to join his own new House. _Well, this certainly ought to prove entertaining_ , he thought sardonically. Gryffindor and Slytherin's adversarial relationship was well known. With the Nolan twins separated thus, sibling rivalry would certainly take on a new meaning. Perhaps it was rather a good thing that he had been sorted into the same House as his own brother after all, Killian thought, with a new appreciation for his circumstances. He glanced at Liam, who offered him a crooked smile, as if to say that he, too, was glad that they had been sorted into the same House.

Resuming his conversation with Mary-Margaret and Liam, Killian almost lost track of which letters of the alphabet had yet to be sorted.  _Almost_.

"Swan, Emma!" the Sorting Hat called at last.

He watched while Emma approached the Sorting Hat, her movements slow and cautious, her expression wary of what was to come. (He knew the feeling.) Sweeping her golden locks away from her shoulders, Killian watched it ripple down her back, mesmerized. She placed the hat on top of her head, and it promptly slipped down over her eyes. Silence reigned throughout the hall for a time, and then-

Killian held his breath, hoping that maybe, just maybe...

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat shouted definitively.

Cheers erupted from Gryffindor table, and Killian watched as Emma walked over to her housemates, looking rather stunned at their enthusiastic welcome. David scooted over, making room for her next to him, clapping enthusiastically all the while. Slightly disappointed, but none too surprised, Killian sighed. Well, he thought to himself with a smile, at least she wasn't in Slytherin. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had always gotten along rather well.

He glanced over his shoulder toward Gryffindor table again. Perhaps it was a good sign of things to come.


	3. First Year: Rivals

Emma's first class in wizardry was Transfiguration. She left Gryffindor Tower early, not wanting to be late, with David at her side. She had a feeling that the no-nonsense Professor would have no sympathy for tardy students, even if they were still familiarizing themselves with the castle. As it turned out, she was right. For despite their early start, they managed to get horribly lost, and it wasn't until Emma stopped an older Ravenclaw and asked for directions, despite David's protests, that they finally arrived at the correct classroom-ten minutes late.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Professor Lucas said crisply, looking at them over the silver rims of her spectacles. "One for each minute you were late," she said. "And you'll have to prevail upon one of your classmate's notes for any information you've missed in the meantime. Now take your seats, if you please."

Emma glanced at David, who shrugged at her in mute apology, and sat down at the only empty table left in the classroom, right behind a pair of Hufflepuffs. Exasperated with her newfound friend, Emma took her seat next to him. Spying movement in her peripheral vision while she opened her textbook to the correct page, Emma glanced up from her book to find Killian Jones smirking at her over his shoulder.

Of course. It figured.  _What do you want?_  she demanded with a lift of her brows.

He tilted his head toward his notes, shooting her a significant look.

Emma eyed him with suspicion, and turned her focus back to the lecture. She tried to focus her full attention on it, but her awareness of his presence niggled at her throughout the lesson; she caught her eyes drifting to the back of his robes from time to time, and her irritation with herself grew. Why was she letting him get to her like this? He was far from the first male to remark on her height. Mostly, Emma tried to ignore it or avoid the offender whenever possible, but something about Killian Jones just would not be ignored.

Some of the students shifted in their seats as the lecture (a large portion of which consisted of rules and safety measures) wore on, impatient to begin, but Emma was content to proceed more gradually. The note-taking was real. Normal, even. Students did it all the time. What many did  _not_  normally do in the classroom was turn matchsticks into little silver needles.

"Find yourself a partner," Professor Lucas said, handing out a small bundle of matchsticks to each table. "And for heaven's sakes, don't set each other on fire!"

A girl with short dark hair, sitting in front of David, raised her hand. Concern was etched on her pretty features. "That...actually happens?"

"From time to time," the Professor sighed, "when students are careless. Mind you pay attention to what you're doing, and follow all the safety precautions I told you about, and it shouldn't happen."

She turned away and began walking about the room to observe, and Emma turned toward David expectantly, only to find him chatted with the pixie-haired brunette, a goofy smile plastered all over his face. So much for being partners, she thought with a sardonic lift of her brow as David stood up to pull his chair over to her table.

"No need, mate," Killian told him, vacating his own seat. "I'll be needing that, myself."

"Presumptuous much?" she snorted as he plopped in the seat next to her.

"Practical," he said, with a nod to the other students. "Do you see anyone else free?"

She scowled at him. "Fine," she grumbled. "We'll be...partners."

"Well, don't sound so enthusiastic."

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "Let's just get to work."

"As you wish," he shrugged, picking up one of the matchsticks. He held it out on the flat of his palm. "What do you say? Ladies first?"

Emma stared down at the matchstick, hesitant. What if there had been a mistake? What if it was all a trick, and the letter had been meant for someone else, a different Emma Swan? Perhaps she was not cut out for Hogwarts after all. She would have to go back to her foster family.

Feeling Killian's eyes on her, she took the matchstick from him. She held it between her thumb and forefinger. There was no point in putting it off. If she truly didn't belong here, she would be found out eventually. Might as well get the pain and disappointment over with as quickly as possible.

"It's not as if it will bite you," Killian said, in a tone that Emma might have interpreted as reassuring, except that it was contradicted by the smirk on his face. "Go on."

She glared at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." He nodded toward the matchstick with a significant air. "Let's see it then, Swan."

Gritting her teeth together, Emma turned her attention back to the matchstick and tried to block out the frustrated noises of her classmates. Running through all of Professor Lucas's instructions for the lesson, Emma took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and gave it her best shot.

Killian snickered.

"What?" Emma opened her eyes and looked in dismay at the elongated matchstick between her fingers. "Damn," she muttered.

"You're supposed to turn it into a needle, not a ruddy sparkler," Killian chortled.

Relieved that she had been able to make any difference to the matchstick at all, and thus quelling many of her internal fears about whether she truly belonged at Hogwarts or not, Emma was only mildly annoyed by his teasing. "Be my guest," she said, waving a hand toward the pile of matchsticks on the table. "If you really think you can do better."

Killian eyed her for a moment, then picked up one of the matchsticks. "All right, Swan," he agreed. "I love a challenge."

Emma raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. She was not about to give him the excuse of distraction, if he managed to bungle it all up. Resting her chin in one hand, it was all she could do not to snort in amusement at the picture he presented, with his eyes screwed shut and the wrinkle of his brow as he concentrated on transfiguring the matchstick.

"Something funny, Swan?"

"Very."

Killian opened his eyes. Her smile faltered at the shock of blue. He blinked at her, a question forming in his eyes, but before it could pass his lips, Professor Lucas stepped up behind him. "It needs a bit more work, Jones," she said with a critical frown, "but this isn't half bad for a first attempt."

Emma glanced down. A silver matchstick with a blunt point was grasped between his fingertips. Professor Lucas held it up for the rest of the class to see, praising Killian's success, as well as pointing out where he had failed. She handed the matchstick back to him, and Emma's eyes met Killian's again. "Something you'd like to say to me, Swan?" he winked at her as Professor Lucas walked away.

She opened her mouth, primed with a sarcastic reply, but class was dismissed. Gathering her belongings, she swept out of the classroom with a lift of her chin instead. Quick footsteps sounded in the corridor behind her, and she turned, expecting to see David, but Killian fell into step beside her instead. "Swan, wait," he panted, "it was all in fun. Don't be mad for keeps, now." He smirked. "After all, who's going to tutor you if you're mad at me all the time?"

"You're real cocky, you know that, Jones? Someone really needs to take you down a peg or two."

"Oh? And I suppose that's going to be you?"

"Perhaps."

"You know what, Swan? I look forward to seeing you try."

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur for Emma as she settled into life at Hogwarts. Where she had initially been reluctant to embrace magic, and skeptical of her place in the wizarding world, her determination to show up the arrogant Killian Jones at every turn forced Emma to throw herself into both her studies and wizarding culture without reserve. What had started out as a first meeting gone awry morphed into a well-known rivalry among the first year students of Hogwarts. If they weren't competing academically, attempting to one-up each other in class, they were fighting for dominance over each other in House points.

Before long, the Houses of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were drawn into the competition, though it was all in fun for their members. Not so for Emma Swan. For her, at least, the rivalry was serious business. So much so that she even extended the feud into Professor Binns' History of Magic class one afternoon.

"Excuse me, Professor?" She waved her hand in the air.

The ghost actually looked startled at being addressed. Emma supposed she could not blame him. It was not as if his bored students ever interacted with him very much. Many of them simply slept through his class altogether, and caught up on the material later, using the textbook.

Including Killian Jones.

"Yes, ah, Miss...?" Professor Binns stared at her as if struggling to recall who she was.

"Swan," she answered. "Emma Swan."

Across the aisle, Killian awoke with a start as his friend, Mary-Margaret, shoved his propped up feet off the table. "Wake up, you goon," she hissed to her companion. "Emma's asking a question." Killian blinked, straightening in his chair. He peered over at Emma with a groggy expression, running a hand through his hair.

"And what was your question, Miss Swan, regarding the witch burnings across Europe?"

"It's more observation than question, actually."

Binns looked nonplussed. "Proceed."

"Our textbook heavily implies that one of the chief driving forces that led wizards to take their community underground, so to speak, was fear from the Muggles as exemplified in events such as the European witch hunts and burnings."

"That's correct," Binns said cautiously.

"It seems to me, however," Emma went on, warming to the subject, "withdrawing from the public sector, while perhaps well-meaning, only reinforces Muggles' fears about wizards. Hiding away solves nothing, and certainly doesn't gain acceptance. It seems to me that both the wizards and Muggles would have been better served if Muggles had been better educated about wizards to begin with. Maybe then there wouldn't have been the need to withdraw from the rest of public society."

Killian snorted loudly, the expression on his face proclaiming as clear as day that he thought she was being daft.

"Mr., ah...?"

"Killian Jones," he supplied.

"You have some insight to add, Mr. Jones?"

"I do." He turned in his chair to face Emma. "Withdrawing from the public was never about acceptance, or the lack thereof, it was about  _protection_. I mean, we lived among Muggles for centuries, tried to become productive and accepted members of society, to prove that wizards weren't to be feared. And what good did it do?" He shook his head, the expression on his face mildly disgusted. "We were shunned-or worse. And then what about dark wizards such as Grindelwald or Voldemort? You think that Muggles wouldn't have increased prejudice toward us, had they known about them? It's better this way."

"There's a saying in the Muggle world," Emma fired back, "that separate isn't equal. So long as we separate ourselves from Muggles, how can we ever be their equals?"

"Salazar Slytherin believed we weren't their equals, we were their betters," Binns interjected into the debate. "A notion that let to willful segregation, even in the wizarding community. Purebloods only marry purebloods, for example."

"Without intermarriage with the Muggles, our community wouldn't be around today," Mary-Margaret spoke up in a thoughtful tone. "And yet, we hide from them as if being magical is somehow innately wrong, a thing to be ashamed of."

Killian sent his friend an injured look, and she shrugged in mute apology. He shifted in his chair with a sigh, his expression disgruntled. "As fascinating as this discussion is," he said sarcastically, "it's purely philosophical; a pipe dream."

"Mr. Jones is correct," Professor Binns said firmly. "History is about facts, not speculation. And the fact is that the witch burnings were a contributing factor to shaping our community as it is today. Now, if we can return to the text..."

Slumping down in her chair, Emma propped her chin in one hand. David patted her arm in sympathy, but she stared ahead, ignoring him. So much for injecting a little life into the subject. Listening vaguely to Binns drone on, Emma felt relieved when he dismissed class at last. Eager to go eat supper in the Great Hall, she gathered her materials together with haste. "Oh, bugger that," she growled when a sheaf of papers slid free from her arms and scattered all over the floor. Peering around for David, she spotted him chatting with Mary-Margaret by the doorway. Annoyed, she turned back to the mess and found Killian Jones squatted down across from her, picking up the papers.

"Uh, thanks," she said awkwardly as he handed them to her. "Kind of an odd time for you to be a gentleman, though, isn't it?"

He smirked. "I'm always a gentleman."

"Like you were when we met?"

"Well, I never claimed to be a  _perfect_  gentleman," he said with an irreverent wink. "It's a nice dream, you know," he said as they stood up.

"What is?"

"What you said in class, about Muggles and wizards. It's a nice dream," he said softly. Emma blinked at him. His blue eyes were soft, open, almost vulnerable. "But that's all it is," he said harshly, his expression hardening. He hitched his satchel across one shoulder. "A dream. There will always be Muggles that don't accept us, Swan. Better that you understand that now."

Emma stared after him as he swept past David, disappearing down the corridor. "What was that all about?" she wondered.

"Oh, that's right-you wouldn't know," David said as they left the classroom together.

"Know what?"

"About his family. See, it's just him and Liam, living with their mum."

"I don't understand."

"Their dad abandoned them when he discovered the secret his wife had been keeping for years. You see, she hadn't ever told him she was a witch. She was afraid he wouldn't be able to accept it. But eventually, well...she simply couldn't hide her sons' innate gifts for magic. It just got to be too much to explain away the strange incidents that happened, due to their untrained magic." David paused, shaking his head with regret. "Unfortunately, his reaction  _was_  fearful. He couldn't tolerate the idea of living among wizards, so he packed his bags and left. They've never even had a letter from him."

"So when I suggested the wizarding community was in the wrong for hiding itself from Muggles, to him it was calling into question his mother's decision to hide what she was from their father."

"Exactly. But you couldn't have known. And I'm sure Killian knows that."

Emma peered over her shoulder in the direction Killian had disappeared. Sympathy stirred inside of her. She knew what it was like to be abandoned, to be tossed aside like trash by those who were supposed to be your family. Emma bit her lip as she realized that Killian's earlier questioning of her familial lineage had merely been curious, rather than snobbish.

"So does this mean that you and Jones can finally bury the hatchet and be friends?" David wanted to know, as they walked down a staircase.

Snapped out of her musings, Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she snorted. "He's still an arrogant ass who called me an Amazon. A crappy familial history doesn't change that." David sighed, and she looked over at him with a smile. "Don't let that keep you from your little love affair with Mary-Margaret, though," she teased.

"Emma!" he exclaimed. "How can you say that? Mary-Margaret's a nice girl."

"Of course she is," Emma agreed, "if she's friends with Killian Jones. Besides, I have eyes, you know. Mary-Margaret is crazy about you, too."

His face lit up. "Really?" he asked. "Should I ask her to study together sometime, do you think?"

"That's up to you, Romeo. Right now, the only date interested in is the one I have with my dinner." She bumped him with her hip. "Come on, last one to the Great Hall is a vomit-flavored jelly bean!"


	4. First Year: The Prank War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter didn't turn out quite like I expected it to. It starts out lighthearted and gets rather serious by the end, so be prepared.
> 
> TW: implied abuse!

Killian glanced up from his Transfiguration homework at the blonde who sat across the room from him, her back resting against the trunk of an enormous tree. It was an unusually warm afternoon, and Killian felt grateful for the shade the tree provided. Particularly as it put him in rather close quarters with Emma, who appeared unaffected by the heat, clad in jeans and a baby blue long-sleeved t-shirt.

Unfortunately, they were hardly on good terms. Or alone.

Listening to Mary-Margaret quiz David on the text, Killian snapped his book shut, earning an annoyed glare from Emma. Pointedly ignoring it, he leaned back on his arms and peered up into the tree's branches. Professor Lucas was giving a test tomorrow, and equal weight would be given to both the written and practical portions of class material. Killian wasn't worried about it, really. He had committed the text to memory ages ago, and Professor Lucas praised his transfiguring as often as she did Emma's.

No, Killian Jones hadn't joined their little study group because he needed to study his Transfiguration homework, nor even because a nervous Mary-Margaret had begged him to accompany her. He was here because he needed to solve the puzzle that was Emma Swan. He did not quite know what to make of her. She was a sharp lass, with a keen intellect, and he wondered sometimes why she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. Her work ethic was also something to be admired, when she put her mind to learning something. But her smile, that was what Killian liked about her the most. He had yet to be the recipient of such a rare treasure; for that was another thing he'd observed about Emma Swan: she smiled far too little. It was a shame, really.

Reaching into his book satchel, Killian absently unwrapped one of the chocolate frogs he typically carried in there. Contemplating various strategies that he could use in an attempt to make Swan smile, he forgot all about the treat he held in his hand until he felt his hands getting sticky. He bit into the melting chocolate and chewed. His face began to ache inexplicably. "What the-?" Boils, dozens of them, erupted on his face.

Emma giggled.

"Swan!" he yelled. "What did you do?"

"Jinxed your frog," she chortled, "with furnunculus. You were just sitting there, staring off into space, wasting all that chocolate, and I couldn't resist."

"I bet," he muttered. "And now what am I supposed to do, Swan? I have a chess rematch with Milah in a hour. Figured we could squeeze it in before dinner, but I hadn't counted on having to take a trip to the infirmary."

"I can come with you," Mary-Margaret offered.

"The Ravenclaw?" Emma said. She made a face. "Oh, that's right. I remember now. She was rather...fond...of you in the boat."

"What boat?" David wanted to know. "The one from the lake crossing?"

Killian nodded at him. "She's from the village nearest to us, so I suppose you could call us childhood acquaintances." He peered over at Emma. "Why? Jealous, Swan?" She snorted, turning her attention back to her Transfiguration book. Killian noted with relish that was upside down.

"Come on, let's get you to Dr. Whale," Mary-Margaret said. "Maybe it won't take as long as we think." She gathered up their books.

Killian followed her back to the hospital wing, contemplating his revenge. Swan wouldn't get away with this. No, he would make her pay. The only question was how. But pay she would, he smirked to himself-or would have, if every square inch of his face had not been covered in boils. And Swan wouldn't know what hit her.

Nearly a full week later, when Killian was busy enjoying his breakfast, one of the doors to the Great Hall opened with a bang. Many of the students started in their seats, gazes swinging toward the disturbance to see what was the matter. Pair by pair, eyes widened up and down the Great Hall as an angry, chocolate-covered Emma Swan strode by, her fists clenched together, and marched straight over to the Hufflepuff table. "You!" she growled at Killian, pointing toward the melted chocolate that matted her hair. "You did this!"

"Why Swan, whatever do you mean?" he inquired innocently, lifting his goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips. He sipped at the cool, sweet liquid and then set it back down. "And what happened to your robes?" He leaned over, dipping his finger into a glob of chocolate that stained one of the shoulders of her school garment. "Good chocolate," he approved, licking it off of his finger with a wink.

"I'm going to get you back, Jones," she threatened. "And these stains better come out!"

"Try 'Scourgify,'" Mary-Margaret advised helpfully, offering Emma sympathetic look.

Sparing his friend a suspicious look, as if she thought Mary-Margaret's advice might designed to make things worse and set the stains, Emma centered her gaze on Killian again. "I don't know how you managed to get that chocolate frog in my bag and engineered it to explode, but I will get you back!" She stormed off, muttering under her breath.

"Killian," Liam said in a reproving tone, once Emma was safely out of earshot, "when I said women like chocolate, that wasn't what I meant."

"I'm not daft," he snorted. "I was getting her back for the stunt with the jinxed jelly beans. I could hardly let that slide after she made a fool of me, so I slipped an exploding bonbon inside of a chocolate frog-"

"The one from the train?"

"No; I ate that one." Liam raised an eyebrow. "What? She wasn't going to accept it from me as a peace offering, and I wanted to see what the card was." His brother snorted. "Well, I did. I don't have a Potter, yet."

"Wasn't she suspicious when it was unwrapped?"

"Of course. That was the idea. I jinxed it to explode when touched, and used a charm to slip it into her bag when she was distracted during Transfiguration yesterday." He frowned. "I'm actually rather surprised she didn't find it last night."

"So that's what you and Will have been whispering about in the corridors." He shook his head. "Just be careful, little brother. I would hate to see this turn ugly."

"It's all in good fun. Swan knows that."

"Does she? I'm not so certain sometimes. Tread lightly, little brother. I'd hate to see you get a Howler from Mum because you ended up in Ghorm's office.

Killian considered his words. "All right," he said. "I'll keep it tame."

He didn't have to wait long for Emma's counter-revenge. Killian saw the results first-hand the very next morning. Humming to himself as he toweled his hair dry, Killian considered what to do with his weekend, after he finished his late night Astronomy class with Gryffindor. Milah had invited Mary-Margaret and him to study Herbology at the library on Saturday, but Killian had declined. He had had enough of studying for the week, and he fully intended to do something relaxing while there were no tests to prepare for, or essays to write.

Resting the towel around his neck, Killian ran a hand through his damp hair and peered into the mirror. The image that reflected back at him was not at all what he had expected. Killian stared in mute horror. Where once his hair had been raven-colored, it now was a nightmarish hue of pinkish-purple. "Swan!" he growled.

Whirling away from the mirror, he marched over to the shower and retrieved his shampoo. He yanked the towel off his neck and poured a bit of the shampoo on the white towel. The shampoo remained its normal color for a moment as it soaked into the white towel, and then changed to the same garish hue as his hair, staining the fabric. Killian threw the towel in the dirty laundry basket. A color-changing charm. He admired her creativity-however grudgingly. But how had Swan managed to charm his shampoo? Someone from Hufflepuff must have helped her, but who? Certainly not Liam. And Mary-Margaret's cooperation was also unlikely, given her reluctance to involve herself in their pranks at all. "Kristoff," he muttered. The second year was almost certainly involved, given his own love of a good pranks, and his ties to Anna, in Gryffindor Tower. The fool would do nearly anything if she asked him to do.

"You'll pay for this, Swan," he muttered to himself as he dressed, "you'll pay."

And over the following weeks, Killian did his very best to make certain that Emma Swan did pay; she gave as good as she got, however, and it wasn't long before they were competing as fiercely in their prank war as they did academically: Quills were hexed to spurt bubbles instead of ink, chairs were jinxed to scream when sat upon, textbooks were cemented shut with sticking spells, shoes were charmed to sing shrill music every time you walked, hair ribbons were transfigured into earthworms (Killian particularly enjoyed Swan's reaction to that)... The pranks were simply becoming a routine part of their lives. Until, of course, as Liam had warned, it all went horribly wrong.

It started out with a simple trick; an annoyance, really. Something meant to rattle Swan's chain, rather than serve as an actual prank. Killian couldn't help it. He'd been minding his own business, discussing the forthcoming first Quidditch match of the year with Mary-Margaret as they walked to Transfiguration, when he spied Emma ahead of him, meandering through the corridor next to her House mate, Robin. Killian noted the smiles and laughter that  _he_  had never managed to evoke from Swan, and something in him snapped.

"Killian? What's wrong?" Mary-Margaret asked with concern as he halted and yanked his wand out of his robe pocket. "What are you doing? You know we're not allowed to use magic in the corridors-"

Ignoring her, Killian furtively pointed his wand toward Swan's book bag and muttered a hex to split the bottom open.

He hadn't counted on interference from Peeves.

"Oy! Killy-willy Jones! Catch!" the Poltergeist said, popping out of thin air to hurl dungbombs at him just as Killian cast his spell.

He was never certain afterward whether it was his instinctual flinch or the dungbomb that hit his wand that threw his aim off, but the shocked gasps of everyone in the corridor and the sudden silence of Peeves alerted Killian to the fact that the result was horrifying. Hand shaking, he jammed his wand back into his robe pocket and looked up, filled with dread at what he would find. Emma stood next to Robin, her robes split open to reveal clothing ragged and threadbare enough to shame the devil, and suspicious yellow-green bruises along her bare arms.

The breath whooshed out of Killian's lungs with painful suddenness. It felt as if someone had just stuck a knife in his heart. Images flitted through his mind in rapid succession, and he realized that he had never once seen Emma wearing anything with short sleeves, even on the hottest days. He had simply assumed she ran colder than he; that she might be hiding something had never occurred to him, much less anything so sinister. His hands clenched into tight fists. Rage filled him, and he wanted to give whomever had hurt her a taste of his own medicine.

Uncomprehending of what had happened, Emma continued talking to her House mate until she noticed the stunned look on his face and glanced around the hallway, becoming conscious of the stares of her fellow students. "What?" she asked with a nervous laugh. "Do I have something on my nose?"

"Emma," Robin said in a low tone, nodding at her arms. "Who did that to you?"

"What?" She blinked, her gaze shifting downward, and Killian saw it; saw the moment where she took in the split robes and realized that she was exposed before the entire school; saw the pain and humiliation wash across her face for a brief moment before she erected the stoic, unsmiling mask again. "Excuse me," she muttered, shouldering a path through the crowd of onlookers.

"I should go help her," Mary-Margaret murmured in sympathy. Killian nodded mutely, watching his friend take off after Emma, and wished that somehow he could start the entire day over again.

"You son of a bitch!" Killian hardly had time to process that anyone was speaking to him, much less identify whose voice it was before he was slammed against the wall with force. David's enraged face greeted him once Killian managed to gather his wits again, and he groaned inwardly, steeling himself for the inevitable blows. "How dare you!"

"Listen, mate," he said, hoping to diffuse the situation a bit, "it was an accident, I swear!"

"I'm not your mate," the Gryffindor growled. "I saw what happened!"

"Then you know Peeves was partially responsible-"

"All I know is that if you hadn't pulled out your wand and broken the rules, Emma wouldn't be in a bathroom somewhere, humiliated and probably crying her eyes out."

Swan crying? That hadn't occurred to Killian. The very idea that he might have made her cry filled him with shame. "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear," he whispered. "I like Emma. I would never intentionally hurt her."

David's expression shifted from anger to disbelief to indignation in a matter of seconds. And in a fit of impulse that Killian understood all too well, even he didn't care for the consequences, Nolan hauled off and slugged him across the jaw. Killian responded instinctively, shoving him away, which only encouraged David's combative proclivities. And then somehow, before he knew it, they were engaged in a full-blown fight in the middle of the hallway.

Peeves, encouraged by the chaos he had managed to instigate, swooped above the crowd of students, gleefully punctuating the struggle with one of his awful songs.

"KILLY-WILLY'S CHANCE IS GONE  
TO SUCK THE FACE OF EMMA SWAN-"

"You're never gonna get her," David sneered, dodging a blow from Killian. He lunged forward and rammed Killian against a column. "I'll see to that."

"-HE'S GOT NO BRAINS AND NO BRAWN  
THIS HUFFLEPUFF'S A YAWN-"

"Yeah? Then why are you fighting me, mate?" Killian taunted out of habit, surprising David by slipping free and twisting around to grab the other boy by the collar of his robes. "That's a lot of effort to put into something that, as you claim, has no chance of happening, don't you think?"

"-NOW HIS FUTURE IS FOREGONE  
NO MORE CHANCE OF JONESIE-WONESIE SPAWN!"

"What is the meaning of this? Ten points each from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor!" Professor Lucas's voice boomed, cutting through the noise like a knife as she emerged from her classroom, drawn by the noise. Killian released David, and they glanced at each other with mutual apprehension for a moment."This is a school, not the Hog's Head tavern!" Lucas lectured as Killian straightened his tie and smoothed down his rumpled robes. "Detention for both of you! Now, go wash that stench off before you darken my classroom door. And if I catch either of you brawling again, it's off to Headmaster Ghorm!"

Killian glanced at David again as the crowd began to disperse. Despite all of his bravado a few moments before, Killian knew he had probably ruined any chance that he possibly had of ever being Emma's friend. And all because of a silly prank war that had gone on for far too long. "I'm gonna back off," he told the other boy.

"What?" David blinked, clearly unable to believe his ears.

"Liam warned me about our pranks getting out of hand, but I didn't listen." David issued him a skeptical look, and Killian shot him a lopsided smile. "Do me a favor, though, mate. If you find out who did that to her...make him suffer. Slowly."

The other boy watched him for a moment, his expression almost respectful, and then offered Killian his hand with a grim smile. "Oh, believe me, Jones," he said, as they shook each other's hands in a truce. "I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Like I said, it got more serious at the end. :P The next chapter will sort of be the second half to this one, and it will cover Killian and Emma's interactions after this incident, and set a path for where they go from here. As for the abuse that's implied in this chapter, I'm going to touch on that in the next chapter, but not in a lot of detail. There won't be flashbacks or anything. I want to keep this a T-rated, mostly lighthearted fic.


	5. First Year: Star-Crossed Enemies

Emma stood in front of the mirror in the girls' toilet and stared at the split that ran along the sleeve and shoulder of her robes with a weary sigh. It might be possible to repair them, if she knew the correct spell for it, but for the time being, she would have to return to Gryffindor Tower for a fresh set. She wouldn't be able to return to classes otherwise-not that she was in any hurry to do so. The stunned silence and shocked stares of her classmates haunted her, and Emma didn't know what to do or how to play it off. She didn't want pity, and yet pitying her was exactly what everyone would do.

The door creaked open, and Mary-Margaret's round face appeared. Emma turned away, fiddling with her damaged robes. She couldn't stand to see the other girl's sympathetic gaze, no matter how well-meaning. Sympathy didn't fix anything, she reminded herself. Emma had known far too many sympathetic teachers and administrators at the different Muggle schools she had attended; not a one of them had ever been able to help her in any way that was real or lasting.

"If you're here to apologize for him, save it," she informed Mary-Margaret in a frosty tone.

"Killian can make his own apologies," Mary-Margaret said mildly, "as I'm sure you're well aware." Emma looked at her suspiciously, wondering if that was a dig, but the innocent, concerned expression on her face disproved that notion. "I came to see if you needed help," she offered.

"Not unless you know how to repair my robes."

"Well-no," Mary-Margaret admitted. "But maybe some Spello-tape might work, at least temporarily." She rummaged in her book bag for a moment. "Here," she said, handing the tape to Emma. "It should patch up the sleeve long enough to get you back to Gryffindor, but you'll want a proper tailor to look at them. I hear there's one in Hogsmeade. Maybe one of the older students can take them for you."

"Maybe," she answered with reluctance. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Why are you friends with him?" There was no need for Emma to clarify whom she was speaking of. She pulled a piece of tape free and twisted, trying to hold the ripped edges of fabric together with two fingers while sticking the tape to her robes with her other hand. "You seem too nice for him."

Mary-Margaret watched her struggle with the tape for a few moments, then stepped forward with a shake of her head. "Here, let me." She held still, feeling acutely awkward while Mary-Margaret affixed the tape to the top of the rip, near the neckline; she worked in silence for a time, gradually working her way down the shoulder and sleeve of the robes, cinching the fabric together inch by inch with pieces of magical tape. "He's not so bad if you get to know him." Emma snorted. " The thing that you have to know about a Hufflepuff, Emma," she continued, "is that we play as hard as we work. Killian says stupid thing sometimes, because he doesn't think first, and his teasing goes a bit far if he isn't careful, but he means well. He's not trying to be cruel. "

"I thought you weren't going to defend him."

"No, I said I wasn't going to apologize for him. That's the other thing you have to remember about Hufflepuffs: we tend to be very loyal to people or causes that we've come to respect and love." She nodded at the bruises that peeked out from the partially mended sleeve of Emma's robe. "Who did that to you?" she asked in a quiet tone. "Your family?"

Emma stiffened. She didn't have a family, not a proper one, and Killian knew it. How much had he told her? "It's not what you think," she said flatly.

"It never is," Mary-Margaret said in a bland tone. "There's always another explanation, isn't there?" She pressed another piece of tape to Emma's sleeve and sighed. "You deserve better."

"It wasn't my foster parents," she insisted. She didn't know why she was telling Mary-Margaret anything at all. It wasn't like Emma to discuss sensitive topics at all, much less with someone she barely knew, but as much as she disliked her current family, they had never stooped to physical abuse; and Emma wasn't comfortable with letting anyone think they had. "It was the last family-my foster sister. She hated me from the day I stepped foot in the house."

"Why?"

"She was from the system, too. I think she saw me as a threat. She had been living with the foster parents for a long time, and I think she'd been expecting them to adopt her, rather than take in another kid."

"And the parents?"

"What about them?"

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Because it was just stupid, petty stuff at first. Things I couldn't prove. They'd have thought I was crazy and unstable and sent me away."

"So instead, things escalated, and you were sent away anyway."

"Yes." Emma clenched her jaw. "She hurt herself and convinced our foster parents that I was the problem instead."

"That's awful," Mary-Margaret blinked in surprise. Her expression shifted, and she looked thoughtful. "Emma...that's why you fought so hard in the prank war, isn't it? Because of what she did."

She blinked. Whatever she had been expecting Mary-Margaret to say next, that certainly had not been it. "I-what?" she said in confusion.

"Never mind," the other girl said, "What about your family now?"

Emma shrugged, relieved at the sudden change of topic. "They don't hit me."

Mary-Margaret frowned, studying her. "You know," she said in gentle tone, affixing the last piece of tape, "just because you aren't offered cake, that doesn't mean you should settle for crumbs."

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Mary-Margaret said slowly, "that just because someone isn't hitting you, that doesn't mean they are being kind to you." Emma's mind flashed to the ragged clothes that she wore, and the meals she often skipped because her foster parents had been too busy at work to go grocery shopping on a regular basis. She swallowed, feeling guilty and ashamed, and she couldn't even understand why. "See you," Mary-Margaret said with a small smile, as she returned the Spello-tape to her bag. She offered Emma a small wave and left the girls' toilet, her expression troubled.

"See you," she whispered, staring at the door. "Mary-Margaret."

* * *

"Are you all right?" David asked in a low tone as Emma sat down next to him in Defense Against the Dark Arts later that day.

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but the familiar, arrogant voice of Regina Mills cut in, "Hey, rag bag! How's the family?" She smirked. "The Muggles can't stand you, either?"

David leaped to his feet, drawing his wand. His face was red with anger, but before Emma could even attempt to calm him down, James, looking bored as ever, turned to his House mate. "That's rich, coming from one of the Mills daughters," he sneered. "How  _is_  your sister these days, Regina?"

The raven-haired Slytherin paled, and her expression became wooden. Emma thought she resembled a statue. The affect, however, was ruined when she hissed in a nasty tone, "Traitor!"

A Slytherin with brown curls twisted around in her seat. "No, that's your mother," she said coolly. Regina stared at her in outrage, and James high-fived his seat mate. Emma glanced at David in disbelief at what she was witnessing, but he only looked amused, rather than surprised.

"Take your seats," Professor Fa said, entering the classroom and cutting off further squabbling. "We have a lot to do."

Professor Fa hadn't been exaggerating. By the end of class, the students had taken so many notes on Doxies and practiced the Knockback Jinx so many times that Emma would have been grateful if her arm had just fallen off in order to feel some relief. "Too bad the position isn't cursed anymore," she grumbled, flexing her arm as they left the classroom and made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

David snorted. "Are you kidding? Then we'd have to take even more notes."

"You're probably right," she grumbled, thinking that at least Regina hadn't the energy left to harass her after class. Or maybe it was simply the threat of being embarrassed by James and his friend again that caused Regina to march past Emma after class, without so much as a glance. Whatever it was, Emma was thankful. It allowed her to pretend everything was normal. Catching James's eye as she passed as small knot of Slytherins, she smiled. He returned her gaze, his face expressionless, and for a moment she thought that he might not respond at all. But then he nodded, so slight that she almost missed it, and turned back to his friends.

David, who had witnessed their silent exchange, asked in a low tone, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered out of habit. He shot her a skeptical look. "Mary-Margaret helped me to Spello-tape my robes shut until I could get new ones from the dormitory. I just want to forget about it, all right."

"Okay," he agreed, turning a corner. They followed a pair of Ravenclaws down a staircase. "The least said about it, the better, I suppose."

Which seemed to be the general attitude of Emma's House mates. The silent consensus among Gryffindors seemed to be to treat her normally, but with perhaps a tad more affection, telegraphed in kind smiles and offers of extra dessert at supper. She appreciated that they didn't push, allowing her the illusion of normalcy, when all she wanted to do was leave. Where, she didn't know, but the Muggle world appealed to her. It was familiar,  _normal_. And so what if it meant no magic, or for all intents and purposes being alone again? She'd been alone and without magic for most of her life, anyway-

A familiar laugh filtered through the noise of the Great Hall, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up, her gaze drifting toward Hufflepuff table, where she saw Killian chuckling as he conversed with several of his House mates. Anger and injured pride bubbled to the surface for the way he'd exposed her before her classmates. Sensing her gaze, Killian looked up, the grin melting from his features as he noticed Emma observing him. He watched her mutely for a moment, then turned away, addressing a blonde-haired boy that Emma recognized as Kristoff, Anna's unofficial boyfriend. Whatever Killian said made the both of them laugh, and Emma ground her teeth together, annoyed.

David elbowed her. "Are you going to talk to him?" he asked in a low tone.

"No, why would I do that?" she huffed. "So he can jinx me again?"

"Emma, I don't think it was on purpose," he said in a tone that was far too reasonable to her liking. She glared at David suspiciously, but he pressed on, "I think he feels badly about what happened."

"Which is why he's over there cracking jokes, right?"

"I'm serious. If Peeves hadn't interfered-"

"Peeves didn't make him get his wand out and use magic in the halls," she interrupted.

"And no one made you pull that prank with the Furnunculous Jinx, either," he pointed out, "or keep retaliating against him every time he responded in kind with his own prank. No one made either of you do any of that."

"Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not defending what either of you did," David said shortly. "Both of you are responsible for letting the prank war go as far as it did."

"Thanks for the lecture, dad," she said, her voice oozing with sarcasm.

"Look, I'm not saying you should be friends with him; that's your own decision. I'm just saying maybe you two should call a truce and tone this feud down a few notches."

"As far as I'm concerned, there is no feud anymore," she informed him, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. David looked relieved. "Because  _that person_ , for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist to me anymore."

"Emma," he sighed.

"It's no use. My mind's made up," she told him. "Don't ever speak to me about him again."

"Well, that's easy enough to do," he said sardonically, "if he doesn't exist."

* * *

And yet, no matter how stubbornly Emma refused to acknowledge his existence, Killian Jones remained an unwanted fixture in her life. There was simply no way to eliminate him completely, when they shared classes together, nor any way to block out his voice when he spoke in those classes. But as she adjusted and spent less effort consciously snubbing him, Emma gradually became aware that Killian Jones was ignoring  _her_  in turn. In fact, she realized one day during Potions lesson with Professor Mills, he hadn't said a word to her since The Incident, as she'd come to think of it. She'd expended so much energy attempting to drive his existence out of her mind again every time their eyes chanced to meet, that she hadn't noticed Killian wasn't actually speaking to her.

The realization irked her. How very like him, she thought derisively, to turn the silent treatment into another competition. No matter, she decided. It certainly made her life more pleasant.

Except that it didn't. For the longer they went without speaking, the more he seemed to watch her. Her nerves prickled with awareness every time his eyes settled on her, and the longer their silent feud went on, the more sensitive she became to it. Rather than ignore it, she began to challenge it and meet him gaze for gaze in what David deemed the equivalent of a visual arm-wrestling match.

And in those matches, however unwillingly, Emma noticed something: Killian Jones, for all his bravado, was troubled and unhappy.

"Maybe you could give him another chance," Mary-Margaret said one Sunday afternoon as they walked to the Gamekeeper's hut for a visit with Professor Whale. "You two just got off on the wrong foot, that's all. It's nothing that can't be mended."

Emma gave her a speaking glance. The girls had struck up a tentative and awkward friendship after Mary-Margaret Spello-taped Emma's robes shut, which was quickly strengthened by their mutual friendship with David, and eventually they spending time together without his presence. Emma found that she sort of enjoyed having a female friend; the few friends she had ever managed to make in the various schools she'd attended had usually been male. Ill-fitting and out of fashion clothes hadn't mattered so much to them, nor had her aloof and often silent nature.

But Mary-Margaret had never quite given up the hope of bringing Killian into their fold as well, making their sometime trio into a quartet.

_"That wall of yours may keep out pain, Emma," she said one evening while they were playing Exploding Snap with David, "but it can also keep out love."_

_"Love?" She wrinkled her nose. "Kil-_ he _doesn't love me. He's always flirting with Milah."_

_Her friends exchanged a glance._

_"As you say," Mary-Margaret said in a placating tone. "There's more than one way to love, though, Emma. And you can't shut out..._ people... _forever," she emphasized with an arch of her brows._

"The day I speak to Kil- _him_  again is the day I take leave of my senses completely," she sniffed. "Forget it."

Emma hadn't counted on ending up in the hospital wing with him, under the influence of a couple of strong healing potions.

"Hey Emma," Regina called to her one day as they left Herbology class. "If you're so good at Herbology, let's see you prove it."

"Ignore her," David hissed when Emma peered over her shoulder at Regina. "Everyone knows she has a thing for Professor Humbert. She's just jealous because you knew the material better and made her look like a fool in front of Humbert."

"What's the matter?" Regina taunted. "Teacher's pet afraid of a little challenge?"

Emma stopped in her tracks. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, facing the other girl.

"Nothing special. Just a little game of chicken with a certain Whomping Willow."

"Well, that's a stupid idea, even for you," James spoke up, watching Regina with distaste. "Congratulations, you've outdone yourself. Should be real interesting telling my grandchildren I was acquainted with Hogwarts' youngest murderer. Not even Voldemort started so young." Next to him, the brunette Slytherin that Emma had learned went by "Jaq," snickered.

"Can it. Nobody asked either of the Minister's pets," Regina said sharply, glaring at the twins in turn. She looked back at Emma. "So what about it, Swan? You up for it, or are you all show and bluster for Humbert?"

Emma clenched her teeth together, and David's eyes widened in alarm. "Don't do anything stupid," he warned. "This has nothing to do with Herbology skills. It's just a lame attempt by Regina to make herself look superior to everyone else. As usual."

"He's right," James said. "The only one that's full of hot air is Regina-and she blows it out both ends," he finished with a glare for his raven-haired House mate.

Emma tried to take their advice, but Regina followed after them, needling her all the more with every step she took. She didn't know why the Slytherin had made it her mission in life to torture her at every turn, but Emma suspected it went much deeper than Regina's crush on Professor Humbert, or her association with Mary-Margaret, whom Regina also seemed to dislike.

Whatever the source of Regina's antagonism, Emma was getting tired of it.

"Well, I suppose it's a waste of time anyway," Regina jeered, "seeing as how I beat Zelena's record and got up close enough to practically feel the breeze on my face when the branches smacked the ground."

"I don't believe you," Emma snorted. "No one has ever gotten that close. Certainly not you."

"Then prove it," she taunted with a lift of her brows. "Prove me wrong."

"You're on." James and David swore in unison. "Let's go."

"Emma, you can't be serious," David said as she set off after Regina. "This is crazy. The Whomping Willow is dangerous. It could kill you."

"And how do you know this isn't a trick of Regina's?" James added. "She could get you expelled."

"Listen." Emma swiveled around to the Nolan twins. "Regina has been a pain in my backside since Gryffindor had its first lesson with Slytherin, practically. This may be stupid, it may be crazy, but I'm doing it. If I don't accept this challenge, Regina will think she can use fear to bully me for the rest of our school years. I have to do this."

The brothers exchanged another worried glance, but neither of them said anything more. They fell into step with Emma without another word. Emma cherished their support, despite their misgivings. Her entire life up until Hogwarts, she had been alone, unwanted, and even in the best foster families, she hadn't been able to count on anyone to feed her regular meals, much less provide any form of stability or support. That the Nolan brothers had her back in this situation filled her with a strange mixture of anxiety and affection.

Shoving those feelings aside to examine later, Emma slowed to a stop next to Regina. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she peered at the Whomping Willow in the distance. "How do you want to proceed?" she finally asked. "Just walk from here to the tree, until one of us can't go any farther?"

Regina gazed at her sideways. "Unless you'd care to walk by meters instead."

She mulled that over. "No," Emma decided. Stopping and starting, while it might have the advantage of affecting Regina psychologically, could backfire and rattle Emma instead. "We start now, and we keep walking until it's too much."

"May the best woman win," Regina smirked as Jaq called "Go".

"It still won't win you Humbert's respect, you know," Emma said as they started walking. She felt the irritation radiate from her rival as plainly as if she had shouted it, and Emma felt a stab of satisfaction. "And if you don't earn it, it doesn't mean much, does it?"

"Shut up," she snapped, surprising Emma. Clearly, a nerve had been struck, but even Regina must know that her crush was never going to go anywhere. Humbert certainly wasn't going to jeopardize his position at Hogwarts, even if Regina were of legal age and not ethically off limits due to being a student. Rumor had it that Professor Humbert had wanted Professor Whale's position as Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures instructor, but the position had already been filled shortly before he applied; he'd been offered the post of Herbology teacher instead, due to his familiarity with plants both magical and ordinary after living in the Black Forest for seven years, attempting to track and study the tribes of werewolves and other magical creatures that were rumored to inhabit it.

It was common knowledge that Humbert was simply biding his time for Professor Whale to vacate her positions one day, perhaps in pursuit of raising a family.

"You'll alert the tree too soon," Regina recovered, "and then neither one of us will get close enough to win."

Emma chose to ignore her. It wouldn't do any good to become distracted by Regina's sarcasm. She let her mind focus on what she knew of the Whomping Willow instead-which honestly wasn't much, save for one crucial piece of information she'd learned from Professor Whale. And Emma intended to use that information to her advantage. She just had to get close enough to the tree to press the right spot on its trunk, immobilizing it. It wouldn't make Regina leave her alone forever, but it might make her think twice before she challenged Emma to a dare again.

The tree quivered in the warning as they drew closer, sensing their approach from the vibrations of their footsteps on the ground. Emma briefly wondered if accepting Regina's challenge had been a mistake after all. But then, it  _was_  Regina, and backing down from a dare was no small matter when one's honor was at stake-least of all if one was a Gryffindor.

"Scared?" Regina inquired almost gleefully as the air whooshed across their faces, signaling just how close they were to the Whomping Willow. "I must say, I'm impressed. My sister never made it quite this far."

Emma continued to ignore her, keeping her eyes trained on the branches of the tree instead. When the first blow came, she was prepared, dodging out of its path just in time. The force of its impact knocked both girls off of their feet.

"Give up yet?" Regina shouted to make herself heard over the worried noises of Emma's friends.

She climbed to her feet. Regina followed suit, and within mere seconds, they were forced to dodge more branches, one after the other, until Emma felt a bit like she was trying to tap dance on hot coals. A naggingly familiar shout cut through the whoosh of the tree's movements in Emma's ears, and she forced herself to resist the impulse to identify its source.

The shouting grew more distinct, but Emma couldn't spare the extra focus necessary to decipher any of the words. No doubt James and David were trying to persuade her that she'd proved her point, and enough was enough. But she couldn't give up now, not when Regina might easily beat her by some lapse in concentration.

Wind whistled overhead in warning, and her hair whipped into a tangle in front of her eyes. Emma cursed to herself, wondering why she hadn't thought to pull it back before starting. Heart pounding with fear, she dodged to her left, hoping that she wasn't moving right into the tree's path. Seconds passed without incident. She felt a surge of relief, reaching up to push the hair out of her eyes, and then something slammed into her hard from behind.

The world went black.

* * *

Emma struggled to cocoon herself in warmth. It felt safe, comforting in the blankness that surrounded her. A rare feeling for her. Pain seeped at the edges of her awareness, but she pushed it way. Wanted to lock it away forever, where it could no longer permeate her life. She had dealt with far too much pain in her life, and now this restful haven, whatever it was, was being slowly ripped away from her. No matter how much she fought, the sharp, throbbing sensations increased in response to her resistance, consuming her and pushing her toward something else, something Emma knew she didn't want-

Her eyes fluttered open. She gazed around her blurry surroundings in confusion. Blinking several times, her vision came into focus again. "Well, glad to see you're conscious again," a male voice said.

"Dr. Whale?" she croaked. Emma tried to sit up in the bed, but found her torso frighteningly immobile.

"Take it easy. You fractured several ribs and shattered the bones in your left arm. You'll be spending the night here in the hospital wing, I'm afraid, re-growing and repairing some bones." He paused. "How much do you remember?"

"Enough." She recounted her afternoon to his satisfaction, and then answered several questions of a more general nature while he probed the rest of her memory.

"Well, you don't appear to have memory loss, thank St. Mungo," he told her after a while. "So there's no need to administer anything for that. I did give you some Skele-Gro when you were conscious earlier, as well as something to dull the pain for your other injuries, but nothing that will help much with bone regeneration. Re-growing bones is an uncomfortable experience under any circumstance." Emma didn't remember any of it, but she nodded, processing the information with a feeling of surrealness. "Are you hungry?" Dr. Whale asked. "I can send a nurse to the kitchens for food. Your roommate already ate during normal supper hours, but it should be no trouble to send for another tray."

"I-roommate?" She blinked.

Dr. Whale nodded, then jerked his head toward the curtain to her right. "Your savior. He's pretty badly injured himself, I must say. The tree really laid into him. Thank St. Mungo it was only some of smaller branches. Still, it's a good thing he knocked you out of the way when he did. You might have been killed, and then we'd have all been devastated." He smiled. "I'll send for that tray," he said by way of farewell.

Emma watched him go. Someone had saved her from the Whomping Willow? It must have been David, she realized. Or James. Well, she certainly owed him an apology and a thank you, she decided, whichever one it was. Wincing as she shifted her right arm, she reached over and peeled back the curtain that separated their beds. "David-"

A familiar head of raven hair turned toward her, and shocking blue eyes met hers. Not David, she thought with chagrin. Uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with bone regeneration, she stared for a while before she finally stuttered, "What are you doing here? Where's David?"

"Oh, so you're speaking to me again?" He arched his brows. "I suppose that's progress."

"If I am speaking to you, it's due to simple good manners and the influence of some strong potions," she insisted.

Killian issued her a skeptical look, but didn't press matters. "The Nolans were banished to their Houses until tomorrow morning," he told her. "You weren't awake, and Dr. Whale wouldn't let them hang about all evening in case you woke up again."

She nodded once, accepting this tidbit of information from him, then settled into silence again. Killian sighed softly, and Emma saw him turn his head away, his face expressionless, out of the corner of her eye. Curiosity ate her. Despite her memory of events leading up to losing consciousness, she still had no earthly clue how Killian Jones, of all people, had come to rescue her. And the very idea that he  _had_  unsettled her. She knew she should thank him, but whereas that had been an easy enough task when she had been under the impression that David or James lay behind the curtain, the reality that it was Killian Jones she needed to thank made her feel quite uncomfortable.

"I don't understand," she finally said, breaking the silence despite her resolution to resume their silent feud. "I don't remember you being present at all. What happened?"

He turned to look at her again. "Let's just say your insanity attracted quite a crowd," he said blandly. "I was walking back from the Whales' hut with Will and Mary-Margaret when we saw the Willow attacking something, and a crowd of students gathered nearby, watching. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you and Regina beneath it," he growled. "What the bloody hell were you two doing anyway?" Emma told him the basics of Regina's challenge, and he snorted. "No wonder you were sorted into Gryffindor. You've more bravery than sense! Insane, the lot of you."

Emma felt the impulse to respond in kind, but whether it was the potions that clouded her thinking, or just genuine weariness, she couldn't come up with anything to fire back. "You're making it really easy to say thank you, you know," she muttered sarcastically.

"Thank me? Is that what you've been trying to do?" A corner of his mouth lifted in the beginnings of a smile. "You're bloody terrible at it, Swan. Almost as terrible as accepting an apology."

She glared. "Look, thank you and all for your dashing rescue, but I didn't need your stupid heroics. The only one who saves me is me. I had the situation in hand."

He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something quite cutting, but then shook his head. "Yeah?" he finally said in a much calmer tone. "Well, maybe I thought I owed you some heroics, regardless," he murmured with a meaningful look.

Emma blinked. "Wait. Are you apologizing?"

"Yes. No. It's more than that."

She expelled a breath, mulling it over. "Then consider your debt paid," she said after a short silence, "so we can go back to hating each other." He slanted her a look and smirked. "What?"

"Come now, Swan. We both know you've never hated me."

"That's what you think," she sniffed.

"I do."

"You're ridiculous."

"This from a girl who tried to best a murderous tree because she didn't have the sense to turn down a dare."

"Speaking of dares," she said, ignoring the dig, "what happened to Regina? She wasn't hurt?"

"Well-no," he said, "not in the way you mean. She's in disgrace right now. There's talk of expelling her. Zelena's beside herself with joy," he grinned.

"They wouldn't really expel her, though, would they?" Emma wondered. "Not with her mother being a Professor here."

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "Though word is that Mills is livid about Regina's behavior, herself. She may not necessarily take Regina's side in the hearing. If there's one thing Professor Mills hates, it's anything that makes the Mills name look bad. She's spent far too much time and energy trying to restore it after being mixed up in some messy business or another during her own childhood; I don't know the particulars, exactly. Wish I did. Whatever it is, I suspect it's the reason the Mills sisters vie so furiously for her approval."

"Wow," Emma said. "And Regina is her favorite."

Killian nodded with a smirk. "They may be a pain the arse to deal with, but they're an entertaining family when they squabble, I'll give them that."

"How do you even know all of this?"

"Will and Milah came by while you were unconscious."

"And Mary-Margaret?"

He shook his head. "She's in detention."

" _Mary-Margaret?_ "

"She was the one who ran and fetched Professor Humbert for help, apparently. Regina didn't appreciate that at all-"

"I'll bet."

"-and she ambushed Mary-Margaret on her way to the Great Hall. They had quite the public spat. Will said Mary-Margaret got in a couple of good hexes before Professor Lucas caught them and gave them both detention, though. Last he saw of Regina, she was sporting the tail and ears of a jackass. Said she never looked better." He chuckled. "I'm going to have to get her to teach me that one."

The nurse arrived with Emma's supper tray then, and pulled the curtain back into place, tutting to herself about not getting so distracted from her meal. Emma ate slowly, processing all that she'd been through that day. It still didn't quite seem real, but then neither did Hogwarts, sometimes. She pushed the tray aside after a while, absorbing the silence of the hospital ward, and wondered whether Regina's mother would really agree to Hogwarts expelling her own daughter. Letting Regina stay because her own mother was employed here didn't seem fair, but neither was asking Professor Mills to make such a decision. Perhaps Regina's mother would recuse herself.

The nurse returned for the tray, frowning at the bits of food left on it, but swept away without a word. "Emma?" Killian's voice floated through the curtain. She felt a flicker of surprise. It had been so silent, she'd simply assumed that he had fallen asleep.

"What?"

"Does this mean we've buried the hatchet, then?"

"What do you think?" she returned. "You tell me, if you're so smart."

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

"Whatever, Jones. Go to sleep."

"Good night, Emma," he replied. She heard the amusement thick in his voice. "Pleasant dreams."

Emma snorted at that. If re-growing bones was as uncomfortable as Whale had indicated, she doubted she would get much quality sleep at all. Bored, she stared at the ceiling for a while, listening somewhat unwillingly as Killian's breathing became patterned and even. She waited a while, just to be certain, then peered over at the curtain separating them. "Thank you," she whispered, finding the courage to say the words that admitted too much vulnerability for her to utter them while he was awake.

She closed her eyes after that, hoping that the act of doing so would trick her body into thinking that it was drowsy, so she might be able to sleep. Her thoughts became jumbled an incoherent after a while, as her mind started to drift, and snatches of thought that she might have suppressed otherwise made themselves known. She felt content, like she had just discovered the solution to a particularly vexing problem. Emma had the vague thought that it was because she and Killian were speaking again. Things had felt wrong, off-kilter, while she'd ignored him. It was almost as if they weren't meant to be enemies at all.

Emma fell into a deep slumber before her conscious mind could latch onto the thought fully. And when she awoke in the morning, she remembered not a single one of her drowsy revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You didn't think it was that easy, did you? They still have a long road to travel toward actual friendship, but Emma won't be ignoring him anymore. At least not for long periods of time. ;)


	6. First Year: Quite The Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone that been reading and leaving feedback for this fic! I really do appreciate it! 
> 
> This chapter took much longer to write than I anticipated; I let myself over-think it too much, and forgot to just have fun with it, for a while. Watching clips from the film helped, though, and I realized I didn't really need to put in a lot of elaborate detail about the flying itself, so much as how the characters were playing off of each other in the process.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the update, and thanks again to everyone for their patience! Pregnancy takes a lot out of me, these days.

** First Year: Quite The Team **

The week following his brief stay in the hospital wing was a quiet one for Killian Jones. He barely saw Emma, save for the classes they shared, and her manner was rather sharp when he tried to speak with her after one of their classes.  Feeling disappointed as she stalked off, Killian supposed she was still under a lot of stress, given all of the unpleasant punishments that had been doled out to Regina and her after the Whomping Willow incident, and backed off accordingly. Since Regina had been primarily responsible, Killian thought it rather unfair, not to mention unwise,  to force the girls into each other's presence for a series of detentions, but he wasn't about to question Headmaster Ghorm's decision. Especially since he had gotten off with little more than a scolding, himself, for his own involvement.

Still, she wasn't ignoring him anymore. That was something.

"Cheer up," Mary-Margaret told him as they meandered through the halls, "we have our first flying lesson tomorrow. I hear Professor Hatter is very interesting."

"Yeah?" Killian said. "I hear he's mental."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary-Margaret huffed. "They wouldn't  let a crazy person teach flying lessons."

But Killian wasn't so certain. Hogwarts' standards seemed to be rather...flexible at times. He could think of a number of professors, both past and present, that he would hardly deem entirely stable. Still, Mary-Margaret's news cheered him. Killian had been looking forward to his official flying lesson ever since Liam had written home about it during _his_ first year at Hogwarts. Toy brooms were all well and good when you were small, but they hovered too close to the ground to simulate what it was like to fly on a proper broom. And the short, infrequent flights he'd had on the hand-me-down broom that Liam had been given by a second cousin hardly counted. Killian hadn't minded much, though. The extra practice had been worth seeing Liam play on the House Quidditch team this year.

"We'll see," Killian said as they approached their next class, "whose theory hold up tomorrow."

The next morning dawned fair, but chilly, and Killian was too excited to offer much resistance when Liam insisted he wear some of the winter items their mother had packed for school. He supposed he would have to wear them sooner or later anyway. Hogwarts tended to be quite drafty during the colder months.

That, and the sooner he dressed, the sooner he could get to his flying lesson.

"Slow down," Mary-Margaret scolded, watching with wide eyes as Killian wolfed down his toast at breakfast. "If you choke, you'll never make it to our flying lesson."

"She has a point," Kristoff nodded. "Besides, flying is overrated anyway."

"Says someone who would travel everywhere by reindeer if he could," Killian smirked.

"Hey, reindeer are better than people," he said defensively. "Well, most people," he amended, realizing, it seemed, that neither Mary-Margaret nor Killian were impressed with that argument. "Anyway, they tend to have better sense than to fly."

"And how would you know what reindeer really think?" Alice laughed, from where she at perched next to Kristoff.

"Haven't you heard? Kristoff here was raised by reindeer," Cyrus teased, pausing in his conversation with Liam. "Or was it trolls?" the fourth year mused.

"Ha ha," Kristoff began.

"Um, as interesting as this conversation is," Mary-Margaret spoke up, "Killian and I have a flying lesson to attend."

"Have fun," Alice smiled as they stood up.

"And try not to get killed," Kristoff called after them. "Ow!" He glared at Alice. "What? I'm just _saying!_ Not everyone takes to it."

Killian, overhearing this last remark as they left the Great Hall, fervently hoped that wasn't the case for him. He had been looking forward to this for too long; the idea that he might discover he had no talent for flying appalled him. He didn't want to be one of the poor souls who was forced to take remedial lessons.

When they arrived for their lesson, Killian nearly groaned. A small cluster of Gryffindors had gathered together , whispering with nervous excitement while Professor Hatter moved from broom to broom, inspecting each in turn. Emma stood on the fringe of the group, her expression uncharacteristically wooden, and Killian felt a flash of sympathy for her. He couldn't imagine how nervous she must feel, having no prior exposure to the wizarding world, and all the magic he took for granted, like flying. The thought that she might see him fly poorly seemed rather small in comparison.

Sensing his gaze, Emma looked up. Their eyes met. Killian smiled at her tentatively in response. Emma blinked, as if she hadn't quite realized he was even there. "Good morning, Swan," he offered after an awkward moment. She muttered something unintelligible, and Killian grinned as Professor Hatter finished inspecting the brooms and stood up.

"Good morning," the eccentrically dressed Professor intoned, sweeping a mop of shaggy hair out of his face; he smiled, an expression that charmed many of the girls.

Killian shifted uneasily as some of the other boys rolled their eyes and made small noises of exasperation. Perhaps he'd let rumor and imagination get the better of him, but there was something...off...about that smile.

"I am Professor J. Hatter, you instructor for this course," he continued. "Some of you may be nervous today, or worried that those who grew up in the wizarding world may have an advantage  over those of you that didn't. Don't be. Today you are all starting at the same place. So: there will be no showing off, and no horsing around. Understood?" His gaze swept over the students. "Please find a broom,  and let's begin."

After some shuffling around with his House mates, Killian found himself standing between Mary-Margaret and Tiana, awaiting instructions. Glancing over at mirroring line of Gryffindors,  he spotted Emma standing about three brooms to his left, between David and Anna. Robin, Killian noted with irrational pleasure, was several broom spaces to Emma's right. He hadn't quite managed to forget (or forgive) the fact that Robin had been able to make Swan laugh and genuinely _enjoy_ his company.

She had never enjoyed Killian's company that way...

Professor Hatter's voice drew Killian out of his wistful thoughts, "Everyone step up to the left side of your broom, and hold your right hand over it; that's it. Now say the word 'up'!"

An uneven chorus of commands punctuated the air. Killian gazed down at his broomstick. "Up," he said in a firm, measured voice. The broom twitched once and then flew up to smack him in the forehead. "Ouch!"

A feminine snort of amusement pricked his awareness. He glanced up and found Emma smirking at him, a broom clutched in her right hand. Killian felt his face heat up, but a quick glance at his fellow students told him that Emma and he were the only two who had managed to make their brooms obey so quickly. Killian couldn't help but feel a bit pleased about that, regardless of the somewhat graceless way in which he had done it. His pleasure was short-lived, however, as boredom soon set in while he watched Professor Hatter move up and down the lines of students correcting everything from their posture to their tone of voice.

Killian peered over at Emma from time to time, but her expression was so distant and distracted that he wasn't certain he could have captured her attention even if he could have thought of anything interesting to say.

The lesson proceeded at a steadier pace once Professor Hatter got everyone properly mounted on their brooms and into the air, and for a little while, Killian was simply too preoccupied with adjusting to the jerky, and often contrary movements of his school broom that he didn't have time to be bored.

A familiar sneeze, followed by a panicked shout wrenched him away from his own concerns; his eyes tracked the blur of erratic movement as it hurtled past him, and before Killian knew it, he was chasing after it on his broom. "Sneezy!" he shouted at the awkward figure as it spiraled higher into the sky. "Come back, mate!"

Leaning forward, Killian coaxed more speed out of his broom, ignoring the vibration of protest that it elicited in response. He sailed through the air, drawing closer to his House mate. He didn't know the allergy-prone boy very well, but he vaguely recalled that his name was Tom. "Sneezy!" he called again, pulling up beside him, "Tom!"

His House mate glanced over at him, his expression panicked. "I didn't mean to!" he burst out. "I was trying to steer it," he babbled, "just like Professor Hatter said, but then I sneezed and--"

"Of course you didn't mean to," Killian agreed. "These old brooms are rather tricky. You've got to calm down, though, mate."

A familiar figure pulled up on Sneezy's other side, her blonde hair rippling behind her like a silken banner. Killian stared at it, mesmerized for a moment. "He's right!" Emma shouted, sharply reminding Killian of the task at hand. "You have to calm down and steer with steady hands--just like a car!"

"A what?" Killian hollered, confused.

"So not the time, Jones!" she snapped back.

Whatever she meant, Sneezy seemed to understand the analogy well enough. "What if I can't?" he protested. "What if I crash?"

"If you don't relax and assert control over your broom, you _will_ crash," Killian pointed out. "Right into the Astronomy tower!" He jerked his head toward the school, which loomed closer with each minute. "Do you really fancy a stay in the Hospital Wing?"

When Killian was questioned about it later, he couldn't quite recall the particulars of what either of them said that calmed Sneezy enough to narrowly avoid the crash and turn his broom around, but the seamless, unspoken teamwork pleased him when he recalled it afterward--so much that he couldn't help but point it out to Emma after they landed. "I don't mean to upset you, Emma," he smiled as the other students surrounded Sneezy, "but I think we make quite the team."

The exasperated look he received in reply made him grin.

"Indeed," Professor Hatter said, sweeping up to them with an odd expression that looked equal parts amused and disapproving, "I look forward to seeing you both compete in Quidditch one of these years. In the meantime, " he said, "I'd like to strongly encourage both of you to put in a little extra practice with brooms."

"Remedial lessons?" Killian choked. "But--"

"Shush," Emma hissed. "He isn't talking about flying, you idiot. We've got detention tonight."

"Right you are! Given how well you work together, though, I imagine you'll have the dungeons swept in no time," their professor agreed with an amiable smile.

"Bloody hell," Killian muttered.

"Next time, Miss Swan and Mr. Jones, leave the heroic stunts to those with more experience." He leaned forward, drawing them closer. "Really, though, spectacular flying," he muttered in a low tone. "Haven't seen the like from a student in years, and now there's two of you! Come see me when this business with the Whomping Willow blows over, will you?"

He retreated abruptly, without explanation, and sauntered off toward the rest of the class, leaving Killian and Emma to stare at each other in consternation.

"What the hell was that about?"

"No idea," Killian shrugged. "I'm as confused as you are. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

"Mary-Margaret's wrong. That man's as mad as a hatter."

Emma's mouth twitched. She rolled her eyes. "Clever," she said sarcastically. "See you in detention, Jones," she told him by way of dismissal, hefting her broom in one hand as she turned to leave.

"See you in detention, Swan."


End file.
